Dean's California--wild, sweaty, important, the land of lonely and exiled and eccentric lovers come to forgather like birds, and the land where everybody somehow looked like broken-down, handsome, decadent movie actors.

We wandered in a frenzy and a dream (301).

Man, wow, there's so many things to do, so many things to write! How to even begin to get it all down and without modified restraints and all hung-up on like literary inhibitions and grammatical fears.

Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.

Dean and I both swayed to the rhythm and the IT of our final excited joy in talking and living to the blank traced end of all innumerable riotous angelic particulars that had been lurking in our souls all our lives.

and silence is the golden mountain

I don't wanta hear all your word descriptions of words words words you made up all winter, man I wanta be enlightened by actions.